"A New Day "
Author: Deb Nockels
Email: Debnockels@aol.com
Timeline: Pretty much the canon for Seasons 1-3 of BUFFY. Aside from
Buffy et al being in college, Season 4 is ignored. She didn't know Angel was
in L.A. and none of the crossovers happened. Neither, most definitely, did
Parker. Or Riley. (Not that I dislike Riley; he just has no place in this
story.) For ANGEL, most of Season 1 is in place, with one glaring exception:
I very reluctantly decided not to include Doyle, since this is set in the
future and we still don't know whether or not the character will return on
the show.
Notes: I can't believe I don't have song lyrics to go with this story!
I know there's gotta be several out there that fit, but my tired little brain
just won't come up with any names. Sequel to "Without
You."
"Don't stop," Giles ordered tersely.
"Do I look stupid?" Xander asked indignantly. "That was a rhetorical question," he added, gunning the car straight toward the gang. The speedometer swung up to sixty.
The cultists waited until the last second before scattering. Some waited too long. David flinched as bodies bounced off the hood and sides, one even managing to grab onto the door. He was dragged for several yards before finally letting go. Glancing over his shoulder, David saw him struggling to his feet.
"Give me the crossbow," Giles demanded. He took it from David, aimed, and fired. The robed figure had just made it to a standing position when the bolt thudded into his chest. He staggered back and collapsed on the ground as they rocketed out of the cemetery. Luckily, no other cars were on the road.
"Good shot," Oz congratulated Giles.
"Thanks." Giles handed the crossbow to Buffy. "Well, that's one less to worry about, anyway."
"Giles, where am I going?" Xander wanted to know, slowing to a crawl. "This is your car, isn't it, David?" He stopped.
"Yes."
Oz, next to the door, reached for the handle.
"No!" Buffy cried suddenly. "Get out of here, now!"
Xander floored the pedal and peeled away while hooded figures swarmed over the brick wall like insects. "Giles, you should have warned us these things come cheaper by the dozen," he said grimly.
Giles sounded equally grim. "They don't usually. This is most unusual. I've never heard of so large a concentration of servants."
"Great. Someone must have offered them a group discount. All right, let me ask again: Where are we going?"
"To the mansion for now," Giles answered. "We still need to get Angel's wound attended to."
David kept his mouth shut. Why they weren't taking Angel to the hospital or at least an emergency clinic he couldn't imagine, but since the possibility hadn't even been mentioned there must be a damn good reason. He didn't think he wanted to find out what it was, just as he didn't really want to know what kind of a mess he'd landed in the middle of tonight. All he wanted, he realized, was to leave Sunnydale behind him. Far behind. Cult gangs toting weapons that caused injuries like Angel's were considerably more than he'd bargained for.
When they stopped in front of the mansion, David trailed in behind the others, waited until Giles, Angel and Buffy disappeared into the bedroom, then said, "Xander, whenever you have the time, I'd appreciate it if you could take me to a motel. That is, if your friend doesn't mind you taking his car again."
"I'm sure he won't mind," Xander told him. David smiled wryly to himself at the unmistakable relief in his voice. "We can go now, if you want."
"Thanks. Oz, will you tell Buffy goodbye for me?"
Oz nodded. "Sure."
"Why don't you tell me yourself?" Buffy emerged from the bedroom, limped up to him. "David, thank you for bringing Giles tonight. As you saw, we were all a little over-confident." Above the smudged, drawn face, her glorious eyes regarded him earnestly.
"It was nothing." David felt awkward. He took a deep breath, nodded toward the other room. "Is he going to be all right?"
"Yes. What he needs most is rest. It ... looked a lot worse than it really is."
"Apparently," David said drily. "Well, goodbye. I'll see you next semester."
"That's it - ‘goodbye'? No questions?" Buffy cocked her head.
"I really don't want to know the answers," David told her evenly.
Buffy nodded, one corner of her mouth curling up in a faint smile. "Fair enough. Goodbye, David." Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks again."
Oz suggested that he go with them so Xander could drop him off at Willow's house. Buffy watched them leave then returned to Angel, stretched out on the bed with the pillows behind his back. He looked considerably better than he had earlier. Of course, earlier he'd looked like death warmed over.
"Has your friend left?" Giles looked up from washing the wound.
"Xander's taking him to a motel." Buffy took the towel from Giles, who obligingly relinquished his place. She sat down next to Angel, dipped a clean corner of the towel in the bowl of water on the night stand, and began dabbing at the remaining dried blood around the puncture site. Giles had already cleaned away the worst of it.
"What did you tell him?" he asked.
"Nothing. He said he didn't want to know."
Giles smiled briefly. "I can't say as I blame him."
"No," Buffy agreed absently; her attention was focused on Angel. "Angel, what did this?" The wound was definitely closing, the puncture noticeably reduced in size.
Giles peered over her shoulder. "I can't believe how quickly this is healing," he murmured. "You said the object they stabbed you with was metal, yes? That was an incredible bit of luck. If it had been wood, this close to the heart... ." He shook his head.
Buffy flinched inside, but forced herself to listen calmly.
"It looked like a railroad spike," Angel offered.
Buffy's hand started to shake. She quickly lowered the towel to her lap, but Angel had spotted her reaction. He took her hand in his, held it firmly. "Buffy, if they'd really wanted to kill me I'd be a pile of ashes right now. It was no accident that the spike missed my heart, and they intentionally used metal, knowing I'd heal faster that way. I'm sure of it."
"Of course," Giles realized. "The attack on you served multiple purposes. It not only weakened you, Angel, however momentarily, it served as a reminder that even though you're a vampire you're not invulnerable. It was another attempt at eroding your emotional stability - both of you, this time." He turned suddenly to Buffy. "Buffy, you said earlier that it was only because Oz and Xander showed up that you were able to get away from your attackers. What were they armed with?"
"Knives," she replied. Giles peered at the slashes in her clothing, realizing for the first time just how many there were. "Knives did all that?" he said in disbelief.
"No," Buffy admitted. "One of them had claws. Razor-sharp. I was lucky that Xander and Oz were close by; they dusted two of the vamps from behind before they knew what hit them. The other one turned tail and ran."
Angel leaned toward her. Pushing up one long black sleeve he inspected the parallel cuts thus revealed - four on this arm alone. His lips tightened. "How many of these cuts are there?" Disregarding her protests, he checked Buffy's other arm, finding four more.
"A matched set," murmured Giles tightly. "Buffy, how do you feel?" Before she could answer Angel turned her gently but firmly away from him, and raised the back of her shirt. He hissed sharply. Giles moved so he could see, and caught his breath in turn. Buffy's back was crisscrossed with slash marks, at least a dozen of them. They didn't appear to be deep and none of them was now bleeding, although a dried residue testified that they had at one time. The black color of her shirt had helped conceal that fact.
"Why didn't you say something?" he exclaimed.
"We had more important things to worry about," she answered impatiently. "I'm fine, okay? Look, they're already healing - "
Angel broke in. "Giles, there's some antiseptic in the bathroom. Would you get it, please?"
"Of course."
"Oh, no, you don't." Buffy stood up, facing them with determination. "That stuff stings, and I'm sore enough." She held up a hand, cutting off Angel's beginning protest. "Angel, you know that I heal fast, at least as fast as you do. What I'm going to do is take a long, hot shower. Then, if you insist, you can apply some antibiotic cream that I have. And, Giles, you are going home so that we can get some rest."
Giles exchanged a resigned look with Angel. "I know better than to try to argue with that tone of voice. Besides, she's right, you know; she does heal very quickly. Very well, since it seems my usefulness here is at an end for tonight, I'll go home where I can at least do more research. That is, if I may borrow your car, Buffy? I noticed that it's parked outside."
"Sure. The keys are in my purse." Buffy gazed around the bedroom. "Uh, maybe it's in the living room." She started to limp in that direction, but Giles stopped her. "I'll get it." He returned shortly with her purse. Buffy fished out the keys, gave them to him.
Giles moved his gaze from Buffy to Angel and back again. "Please be on guard. Based on tonight's events, it would seem that the First is stepping up the pace; the attacks are coming faster and harder. I suspect that It will try again tonight, with another dream. Just remember that the dreams It sends are only that – dreams. However based in reality they may be, the First inevitably skews them to Its own purpose."
Buffy nodded. "We know. Don't worry, Giles."
"Knowing something isn't the same as experiencing it," Giles reminded her. "The dream you shared today was aimed at Angel, not at you. It was his guilt, his fear, that were explored, not yours. I suspect that tonight you may be the target, Buffy." His face was full of concern.
Buffy nodded again, her eyes sober. "That makes sense." She turned and looked at Angel, tried to smile. "You may not get much sleep tonight if I stay here. Maybe I should go home - "
"No!" The exclamation burst simultaneously from Angel and Giles both. Buffy looked startled at their vehemence.
"No," Giles repeated, more calmly. "I think it's important that you two stay together as much as possible. Together you're a formidable team, not only physically but mentally and emotionally. If I were the First, I'd be doing my best to separate you."
"No more time apart," Angel reminded her from the bed. "Isn't that what we said just this afternoon?"
She walked over to him and sat down. "But you need to rest, so you can heal."
"How much rest do you think I'll get if I'm worrying about you having one of those dreams?" he asked. "Giles is right, Buffy. You've seen the effect they have, but only I know firsthand how devastating they are. If you do have one tonight, you'll need me with you, just as I'll need you if we're wrong and I'm once again the recipient." He reached up and stroked her face.
Buffy stared into his dark eyes, so full of love and concern. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly. "You're right. I'll stay." They kissed again.
Giles cleared his throat. "Good. Well, I'll see you in the morning, then. Er, Buffy, that is. Good night." Buffy saw him out the door, then returned to Angel.
"How's your ankle?" he asked, noticing that she still favored that foot.
Buffy reassured him. "I just twisted it a little. It'll be fine by morning. Before I go shower, is there anything I can get you?"
Angel shook his head, then leaned back against the pillows, obviously tired. Buffy persisted. "Are you sure? What about more blood? Wouldn't that help with the healing?"
Angel looked uncomfortable. "Buffy - "
"What?" She waited a moment, then sighed and sat down beside him, resting her hand lightly on his chest, not close to the slowly healing wound. "Angel, I know you don't like to talk about it, but what kind of relationship will we have if we can't be open with each other about our needs? You're a vampire - a gorgeous, sexy one, but still a vampire. Vampires need blood to survive. That's a fact that isn't going to change or just go away."
Angel knew she was right. After a brief mental struggle he said, "In the refrigerator there are two jars. Bring me one - please."
Silently Buffy did as he had asked. When she returned she held the jar in her hand and studied it. Her nose wrinkled a bit. "Will this really help? It looks - well, pretty disgusting, if you don't mind my saying so."
"It is disgusting," Angel agreed with bleak humor. "But it will help, a little anyway." He held out his hand, but Buffy didn't give up the jar.
"Would fresh blood be better?" she asked slowly. "For the healing, I mean?"
"Yes," he admitted, dropping his arm back to his side. "But we don't have any fresh blood, and you are not going out to get some." He eyed her with alarm.
She flashed him a brief smile. "Believe it or not, that was the farthest thing from my mind. No, what I was wondering was, what about my blood?" Before he could respond, she hurried on. "I mean, just a little bit of it. Wouldn't that heal you faster than this stuff?"
"Are you out of your mind?" Angel grabbed her wrist. "You know what happened last time!"
"The circumstances are completely different now," she said calmly. "This time you're not dying. You're in control." He stared at her, speechless. She rose, setting the jar on the nightstand. "Please think about it, Angel. If Giles is correct, we're going to need all our strength to fight the First."
Angel set his jaw. "I'll be healed by tomorrow evening."
"Maybe," Buffy answered, eyeing his injury doubtfully. "But what if you're not? Or what if something happens tonight? How well would you be able to fight?" Angel didn't reply; the answer was obvious. "Just think about it. Please." She went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. A few moments later the shower came on.
Angel waited until he was sure Buffy was safely engaged in washing away the marks of that night's exertions, then grabbed the jar of blood and drank down the contents as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore the taste.
Unbidden, memories rose to his mind of the night he drank Buffy's blood - the heat, the intoxicating flavor ... the potency. He shut his eyes, remembering the power of it surging through him, cleansing his system of the arrow poison, renewing, revitalizing. Healing. He looked down at the jar, at the remaining inch of stale, cold animal blood, and his gorge rose at the thought of actually drinking it.
Slowly he got up and made his faltering way to the kitchen, where he rinsed first the jar, then his mouth, rinsing and spitting several times in an effort to rid himself of the taste. Returning to the bedroom, he hesitated then went over to the bathroom door and listened. No sound of water running. He tapped on the door. "May I come in?"
Buffy opened it, wrapped in the terrycloth bathrobe she'd brought from home that evening. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place by a clip. "Of course - but thanks for asking." She smiled and moved aside.
Angel went immediately to the sink and reached for his toothbrush. His hand stopped in midair. A second one sat beside it in the holder. Buffy's. For some reason the sight of the two toothbrushes nestling together brought a surge of emotion that tightened his throat. He glanced over his shoulder, but Buffy had left the room. He stared at the toothbrushes again.
Is Buffy right? he wondered. Could I remain in control and drink only a little bit of her blood, just enough to hasten the healing? I tasted her blood earlier today, when her lip bled, and I didn't lose control.
Yes, but that was only a drop, he reminded himself. I don't know how I'd react to more than that. Lost in thought, Angel brushed his teeth and used the mouthwash, then got under the shower himself.
Gritting his teeth against the sting of the water on his injury, he quickly washed, breathing a sigh of relief at feeling clean again. He would have loved to linger under the relaxing spray, but his fatigue was growing by the minute. As he stepped out of the shower he noticed two big fluffy towels hanging over the rail, and smiled. Something else Buffy had brought from home. A minute later he opened the door. Buffy sat in his bed - no, their bed - waiting for him.
"How do you feel? Did the blood help?"
"A bit," Angel hedged. "It takes a little time, you know." He walked over to his side of the bed and slid under the covers, wincing as he accidentally jarred his injured shoulder. Buffy nodded without comment, then handed him a tube of antibiotic ointment.
"Here." She shrugged off the robe, tossing it to one side, and presented him with her back. Angel examined the slashes carefully. He touched one. "They're already closing."
Buffy shrugged. "Sure; I told you they would. Go ahead and put on the ointment, though, if it'll make you feel better." He did, applying it as gently as he could, knowing the cuts had to be sore even though they were healing. Buffy turned around and he did the same for the slashes on her arms and torso.
"Have you thought about what I said?"
Angel stopped in the act of replacing the cap. Then his fingers resumed their steady motion, until the cap was on tight. He placed the tube on his nightstand and looked at Buffy. "I'm afraid I won't be able to control the hunger if I taste your blood again. You have no idea how powerful it is, Buffy."
"The hunger?"
He shook his head. "Your blood. Slayer blood."
"How about if we take precautions?"
Angel looked blank. "Precautions. Like what?"
"Like ... I keep a cross in one hand, ready to use if I need to but out of sight if I don't." She opened her hand briefly to reveal a silver cross about two inches long.
He stared at her, then nodded slowly. "That should work. All right."
They were silent a moment, then Buffy took a deep breath and moved closer. Angel put his arms around her, then kissed her. "Relax," he breathed, and kissed her again until he felt her lips soften and respond to his. Picking up the hand not holding the cross he kissed each finger, then turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm. He vamped out, kissed her wrist, then very delicately bit it.
Buffy gasped softly, more from surprise than anything, for the pain was minimal. Blood welled up, only to be licked away by Angel's cool, silken tongue. She gasped again as a frisson of sexual delight shivered through her body. The sensation was less intense than she'd felt the other time Angel drank from her, but still pleasurable. More blood; another pass of the tongue; another shiver.
Angel growled deep down in his throat. Buffy's blood spread over his tongue; his palate filled with its heady bouquet. He swallowed, drinking in her life force, buoyant and pulsing, and her power, deep and compelling.
The hunger rose, wild, instinctive, but he quelled it without any real struggle. Instead of ripping her wrist to shreds or going for her neck as his vampiric nature craved, he waited a few seconds until more blood trickled from the wound, then bent his head and slowly licked it off. Already he could feel its healing properties spreading through his system, working on his injury.
He felt Buffy quiver and glanced up to see her staring at her wrist. "Are you all right?" His features morphed back to human.
Buffy nodded slowly, as if mesmerized. "Don't worry, I'm fine." Her voice was slow and thick, her eyes half shut. Watching her face, Angel drank again, saw her face slacken with what could only be sensual enjoyment.
It's true, then. he realized in wonderment. This *is* an erotic experience for her. He couldn't fathom it. Nothing in his experience as a vampire had ever suggested this could be pleasurable for the victim. Of course, vampires generally weren't considering the feelings of their victims when they ripped into their jugulars.
He lowered his head. The trickle slowed to a mere ooze that barely glistened on her skin. Angel gave one last lick then stopped and examined her wrist closely. Finally he gave a little nod of satisfaction. "The bleeding's stopped."
Buffy blinked several times before focusing on him with languorous eyes. She murmured, "That was incredible. Did it help?" Her eyes slid down to his chest, and widened. "Angel - "
He looked down. The puncture was closing even as they watched. Angel grimaced as the rapidly knitting tissues burned and itched. Within minutes the wound was completely closed, only a slight inflammation remaining to show where the injury had been.
Still staring, Buffy gingerly touched the area with her fingertips. "I don't believe it."
"I told you your blood was powerful."
"Yes, but - " She shook her head in disbelief. "You didn't even take that much. Hardly any, in fact."
"Not this time." His voice was grim.
Buffy looked at him sharply. "Angel - "
Angel laid a finger on her lips. "Buffy, you can use all the logic you want: that I was weak, I was dying, and that's why I couldn't control the instinct to feed. My mind knows all this. But my heart remembers you lying unconscious beneath me, unconscious because of me - and nothing will ever erase that memory. It may soften, with time, but I'll never forget that you almost died because I drank from you."
Buffy kissed his finger, then leaned backward to toss the cross onto her nightstand. She pushed gently on his uninjured shoulder until he lay back, then snuggled next to him. "I understand. I'd feel the same way, I guess. Just make sure you also remember that I'm the one who forced the issue, and that if I hadn't we wouldn't be here like this. Okay?"
Angel smiled a little. "I'll try."
"Good." Buffy moved closer. "How do you feel? Physically, I mean."
"Generally, with my hands," he told her solemnly.
She rolled her eyes. "You must be feeling better if you can make with the bad jokes."
He turned on his side to face her. "I am. How about you? You must be tired."
"No," she murmured. "I'm not tired at all." They kissed, lightly. "Angel, could - could you tell what I was feeling when you were drinking from me?" The color rose in her cheeks.
"Yes," he said softly. "But - " he shook his head " - I don't understand it."
Buffy asked, "You've never heard of anything like it? No vampire locker room gossip or rumors or anything?"
"Not even a hint."
She looked thoughtful. "Maybe ... maybe it's something that only happens with us, then? Because of what we have? Our love."
"Maybe so." Angel stroked her cheek, gazed into her eyes. No one had eyes like Buffy's, the irises a rich yet delicate mixture of green, brown and gray that expressed every emotion, every thought. He could read her soul in their luminous depths.
Buffy licked her lips. "Angel - " She stopped. He looked at her with mild inquiry. She continued, nervously, "Sometime, later on ... I'd like us to do that again. I don't mean right away but sometime when you're not hurt, so it could just be part of our lovemaking. Maybe that way you could feel the same thing I do."
Angel, wondering frantically how to refuse this unthinkable request without hurting her feelings, was shocked to hear himself saying, "I - I'll think about it."
"Thank you." She was grateful that he hadn't rejected her request out of hand, knowing how difficult the subject was for him to even contemplate.
Buffy looked at Angel's face, ran one finger down the length of his nose, over its tip and onto his mouth. The delicate wings of his lips enticed her to trace them with her fingertip. "I love your mouth," she breathed, leaning forward and brushing her lips over his. "It's perfect."
She felt his mouth curve in amusement. "Perfect for what?"
"For kissing, of course." Which she proceeded to do, first in light butterfly kisses then, as his lips parted, in longer, more sustained caresses. Her tongue grazed over the tip of his with quick, tantalizing darts. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled gently for a moment before releasing it to start on his throat, kissing her way down to his collarbone and back up again to his mouth.
They kissed again, more deeply but still holding back. Buffy was breathing faster, aware of the increased pumping of her heart. She ran her hands over Angel's shoulders and chest, careful to avoid the newly-healed injury site, and brushed her fingertips along the dark circles of his nipples, marveling at the silkiness of the skin there. Daringly, she gave them a gentle pinch. Angel made a soft sound deep in his throat. To her delight the flat male nipples slowly contracted, just as they had the night before.
"What?" Angel's breath ruffled the hair at her temple.
"Hmm?" Her attention was focused on his chest.
"You're smiling."
Buffy felt slightly embarrassed. "Am I? It's just, until last night I didn't know that men did this too." She stroked the puckered tip of one nipple. "I like seeing it." She glanced at him shyly. "I guess that's kind of silly."
"No." He couldn't say any more. Angel's throat tightened with emotion. This small reminder of her inexperience with the male body humbled him to the bottom of his soul. During their time apart he'd been tormented by visions of Buffy in the arms of other men. Yes, he had left her because he wanted her to have as normal a life as was possible for a Slayer, a life that included love and all that went with it, something they'd believed at the time was impossible with him due to the gypsy curse. He'd wanted that for her with all his heart, and yet -
And yet the thought of her making love to another was like a dagger in that same heart. He knew it was a selfish, dog-in-the-manger attitude, and had always been ashamed of it. But he couldn't help it, any more than he could control his joy upon learning, after his return the previous evening, that she hadn't slept with anyone else since their ill-fated night more than three years ago. And that too shamed him.
Buffy tilted her head back to look at him. "You have the strangest look on your face. What are you thinking?"
Angel captured the hand on his chest and kissed it, but said nothing.
"Angel?" She touched his face. "What is it? What's wrong?"
He shook his head slightly. "Nothing's wrong, Buffy. I - I don't deserve this gift, that's all."
"What gift?" she asked softly. "You mean, us being together?"
"No. Well, yes, that too, but ... I meant your gift to me."
Buffy blinked. "Okay, now you've lost me. What have I given you, other than a couple of towels?"
Angel moistened his lips. "Buffy, the whole time we were apart I tortured myself thinking of you being with another man. I would imagine the two of you making love and it was agony for me. But - I never once believed that it wouldn't happen. You're a beautiful girl with normal, healthy appetites. To come back and find that you hadn't been with anyone else ... that's your gift to me, even if it wasn't an intentional one."
She was silent but he could see thoughts turning in her eyes. "It wasn't intentional," she said finally. "Not in the sense of being something that I sat down one day and decided to do, or not to do in this case. There were times when I thought about having sex with whoever I was dating at the time - times when I was really tempted. Like you said, I have the normal desires. But - no one made me feel the way I felt with you, and if I couldn't have that, well, I didn't want any of it."
"I love you," was all Angel could say. "Buffy, I love you so much - "
She kissed him, cutting him off in mid-word, and moved even closer, until their bodies touched along their entire lengths and words were forgotten.
Their lovemaking had none of the frantic urgency of the previous times, when the pent-up need of the lost years consumed them in a raging bonfire of passion. This was a night of slow and deliberate caresses, of savoring each other, of desire building and subsiding then rising again ever stronger. Buffy's shy yet eager explorations with hands and mouth twice brought Angel to orgasm; Buffy lost count of her own. When finally they joined their bodies it was like nothing they'd ever imagined.
"Now I know why the French call it ‘the little death,' " Angel murmured at last. "I feel like I've been reborn."
"Angel?" Buffy lay sprawled on his torso, her legs still straddling his hips.
"Hmm?" Angel stroked the tangled hair away from her face.
"I can't move," she mumbled. "I think my bones have melted."
He laughed quietly. "Then don't. You're fine right there."
"Okay." Her eyes closed; thirty seconds later she was fast asleep. Angel stayed awake for a while longer, not because he wasn't sleepy but in order to cherish for as long as he could the utter joy of the moment. Finally, though, he could no longer ignore the demands of his exhausted body.
Regretfully he turned over on his side, sliding Buffy onto the mattress. She gave a soft murmur but didn't waken as she nestled beside him. He drew the covers up, kissed her on the forehead, and sank into slumber.
Deep in sleep, Buffy frowned uneasily.
She raised the sword. This was the end, then. She'd fought Angel to his knees, literally. All the months of anguish and horror and guilt had narrowed down to this moment, when she would kill him and finally end the nightmare. Suddenly Angel gasped, an agonized sound. His body strained upward and - something - swept through him. His eyes glowed red for a moment, then, with another anguished cry, he slumped forward, catching himself with one hand.
Angel moved restively. One leg escaped the cover of the sheet.
Pain. Red-hot. Filling him. Sweeping him through dark, billowing clouds before vanishing as suddenly as it had come. He found himself kneeling on a hard stone floor with the sound of his own cry ringing in his ears. He dropped onto one hand to stop himself from collapsing in a heap. Dizzy and disoriented, he looked up. Someone stood over him. Who? He blinked, trying to bring the figure into focus.
A deep sigh came from Buffy's throat. Unconsciously her lips parted.
Wary but puzzled, she watched as he blinked up at her. What new trick was this, and why was she letting it distract her from doing what she had to do? "Buffy?" he asked, and something in his voice went through her like a shock; it sounded so much like the old Angel. Her heart began to pound.
A muscle twitched in Angel's face, bringing his eyebrows together in a momentary frown.
"Buffy?" The dizziness subsiding, he sat up. A throbbing ache in his right hand made him glance down to see a scarlet gash across its back. He turned the hand over. A similar injury scored his palm. Knife wounds? Where did they come from? He looked up again. Yes, it was Buffy, but why did she have a sword in her hands? And why was it raised as if she were about to decapitate him with it? Had they been training together? Why couldn't he remember!
"Buffy, what's going on?" Somehow he got to his feet, glancing around the unfamiliar room. "Where are we?" He searched his memory desperately but came up with only fragmented, disparate images that didn't make sense. "I don't remember." Why was he so dazed? What had been happening? God, why couldn't he remember?
Buffy rolled onto her back, tangling her legs in the sheet. Her hands clenched.
Angel stood up, swaying as if dizzy. "Where are we? I don't remember." He gazed around the large room, his eyes coming back to her face with a helpless bewilderment that went straight to her heart. She lowered the sword, wondering desperately if she was making a horrible mistake, one that would doom the entire world to extermination.
"Angel?" The word was both question and prayer. Oh, God, could it be? Was it possible? She stared into his confused eyes, beginning to tremble.
Angel's eyes moved rapidly beneath his closed lids; in his sleep he licked his lips and swallowed.
Buffy slowly lowered the sword, staring at him as if she couldn't trust her eyes. "Angel?" Her voice was tentative, disbelieving, which confused him even more. His churning thoughts halted at the sight of a wound on Buffy's left arm. It too looked like a knife cut - or sword cut?
"You're hurt!" His throat felt tight. Had he done this to her, during their training session? Had he hurt her? He touched her injured arm, then drew her into his arms. "Buffy." He held her tightly, wondering at the flood of emotion this evoked: Love. Grief. Passion. Horror. Aching loneliness.
"God, I feel like I haven't seen you in months! Everything's all muddled ..." He kissed her hair, whispered her name. "Buffy!" Right now she was the only reality in this universe of whirling disorientation, and he clung to her desperately, needing the stabilizing comfort of their love.
She returned his embrace, holding him as if it had indeed been months since their last meeting. All of a sudden he heard a strange sound behind him, a kind of muted, hollow roar. Buffy's body went rigid; he heard her give a little gasp. The roar grew slightly louder. He raised his head in alarm. "What's happening?"
Buffy's head tossed restlessly on her pillow; strands of hair lay unheeded across her face. She uttered a soft moan.
His eyes fell to the sword slash on her left arm, the slash he'd given her only minutes before. Concern flooded his face. "You're hurt," he choked as he raised her arm to examine it. Then he pulled her into his embrace, where she'd never thought to be again. "Buffy. God, I feel like I haven't seen you in months! Everything's all muddled; nothing makes any sense."
She felt his kiss on her hair and closed her eyes in a paroxysm of joy. It was Angel, her Angel, come back to her. How this had happened, or why, she didn't know and didn't care. It was enough to be here safe in his arms and know that the living hell of the past few months was finally over. She clung to him with all her strength, wanting nothing more than to hold him and be held by him for all eternity. (Angel.)
A strange noise caught her attention, a rushing, hollow, roaring sound, like wind soughing in the distance. She opened her eyes. The mouth on the stone statue of the demon Acathla had dropped open, and the sound was issuing from that dark, gaping maw.
No, she remembered with a sudden shock like ice water through her veins, it wasn't a statue. It was Acathla himself, and he was waking. While still evil, Angel had woken him with his blood and the demon was preparing to draw in his first breath, a breath which would create a vortex that would draw all living creatures into Hell.
Whistler's words returned to her. The only way to stop the demon was with the blood of the one who had awakened him. The only way to stop Acathla was to kill Angel. But the Angel who was here now wasn't the evil vampire who had wanted to end the world; it was her gentle, tormented lover whose soul had once more been returned to his vampire body. Cold horror riveted her in place. She saw the vortex forming and wanted to die.
No! she silently screamed. I can't do this! I can't!
But the pitiless answer came: You must.
Angel lifted his head. "What's happening?"
The bed creaked as Angel twisted over onto his back. Sweat shone on his brow.
"Shh." Buffy touched his face tenderly, kept him from turning around. "Don't worry about it." Tears filled her eyes. They kissed, and the touch of her lips soothed his agitation. But why was she crying? He could sense her emotions as clearly as his own; what was causing this despair? Her whole body trembled with it. "I love you," she whispered brokenly.
"I love you," he replied truthfully.
"Close your eyes," she whispered. He looked deep in her eyes, seeing the love/anguish/resolve; felt her knowledge that she could solve the problem gathering behind him, whatever it was. That it was a great evil he had no doubt at all, just as he knew that in his befuddled and weakened state he could offer her little assistance. If closing his eyes would help her fix it, then close his eyes he would. He did. She gave him one more kiss, then stepped out of his arms.
Without warning something sharp and agonizing ran through his body as if it were paper. His eyes flew open in shock and pain. The sword that had been in Buffy's hand now transfixed his body. He would have crumpled to the ground but the sword held him upright. Its tip appeared to be either held by or stuck in whatever was behind him, pinning him in place; he couldn't move a step in any direction.
A strangled whimper came from between Buffy's lips. Tears escaped her eyelids.
"Shh. Don't worry about it," she told Angel, caressing his face lovingly. They kissed. The touch of his lips almost made her break down. Only the thought of Willow and Xander and her mom and dad and all the billions of human souls depending on her kept her from dissolving in a sea of tears. "I love you."
"I love you," Angel replied, and her heart shattered. She actually felt it crack, felt the agony slicing through her chest. She had never thought to hear those words from him again.
"Close your eyes," she managed to whisper through trembling lips. Angel looked at her trustingly, and shut his eyes. She kissed him one last time then stepped back. Without giving herself time to think she thrust the sword into his chest with all her Slayer strength, ramming it through his entire body until the tip re-emerged from his back, to be held fast within the whirling light of the vortex.
Angel uttered a low sound. His chest rose involuntarily, taking in unneeded air.
He stretched out his hand in uncomprehending disbelief. Buffy took another step backward, her eyes fixed in glazed horror on the spot where she'd stabbed him.
"Buffy?" He stared at her desperately, unable to understand why she would do such a thing. She loved him; he loved her. The shock of her betrayal was harder to bear than the agony from the sword thrust. Then he felt himself being pulled toward the thing behind him. Her face, wide-eyed and tragic, was the last thing he saw before he was swept into darkness and the beginning of an ordeal more terrible than any he could have imagined.
Lost in the depths of her dream, Buffy sobbed. Her body twisted agonizingly.
Angel stared at her in utter shock and disbelief. "Buffy?" One hand reached toward her, pleadingly. "Why?" he choked out. The look of betrayal on his face stabbed deep in her soul. She took another step backward. Angel's transfixed body began sliding away from her, pulled in by the now-dwindling vortex exactly like a child's toy on a string.
"Why, Buffy? I love you, why did you do it? Why did you kill me?" His anguished voice faded as he disappeared from sight, only one desperate word echoing through the vast room:
"...why???"
He was gone.
Her world shattered.
Angel's sleeping body grew tense; his hands clenched.
He saw Buffy, far off at first, then, suddenly, he was standing beside her. He blinked. Acathla shut his mouth with an audible clunk! and relapsed into dormancy once again. Buffy dropped to the ground with the most heartrending moan he'd ever heard. It was the cry of a lost soul. She began sobbing. "Angel! Oh God, Angel, I'm sorry!"
He knelt beside her. "Buffy, I'm here." He tried to hold her but his arms passed right through her. (I'm a ghost) he realized sadly. (She can't see or hear me.) All he could do was sit helplessly by as she wept, for hours it seemed, until she had no more tears left. Finally she sat up and stared around the room with dull, unseeing eyes. After a minute she slowly got to her feet, moving like an old, old woman.
He followed her as she stumbled over to his sword, lying where it had fallen from his hand during their fight. She knelt down and picked it up, stared down at it. Alarm pricked him. "Buffy?"
Buffy raised her eyes to Acathla with a look of utmost despair. "I'm sorry, Angel. Forgive me." She poised the sword over her left arm.
"Buffy, no!" he yelled, lunging forward. But of course she couldn't hear him, and he fell through her body, landing on his knees on the other side. He twisted around only to see bright blood streaming from a long, vertical cut on her arm.
"Buffy, don't," he wept, stretching out his hand to her, but she calmly repeated her action on the right arm. "Buffy! No-o-o!"
Angel woke with a convulsive movement that almost carried him over the side of the bed. For a moment he simply lay there, shaking from the memories and emotions called forth by his dream. Beside him Buffy moaned, instantly drawing his attention. She still slept, but her body twisted and thrashed; tears flowed down her face. His name came from her lips in a sob.
He frowned in realization: They'd shared another dream. And, he knew with a sinking feeling, this time it wasn't his dream. Just as he and Giles had expected, this time he'd entered her nightmare, reliving one of the worst moments of her life - with, of course, the heart-wrenching, guilt-enhancing embellishments that were the trademark of the First.
He bent over her. "Buffy, wake up. It's only a dream." He shook her gently, kissed her forehead.
Her eyes opened, looked at him dazedly. He saw the exact moment that remembrance hit, turning them wide with grief and newly revived guilt. Moaning, she covered her face with her hands, rolled away from him, and wept.
"I had to, Angel - I'm sorry, oh God, I'm sorry, there wasn't any other way - it had to be your blood, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "
"Buffy, I know. It's all right." Angel tried in vain to stem the almost hysterical flow of words; she only cried harder. Finally he sat up and gathered her in his arms, simply holding her until her sobs diminished. "Shh," he whispered, smoothing her hair. "It's all right, it was only a dream."
"No," she choked out. "It happened; you know it did. I knew your soul was back - but I sent you to Hell anyway. I ran the sword through your body - and you looked at me - oh God, the look in your eyes - "
He interrupted before she broke down again. "You had no choice, Buffy. I know that. I woke Acathla with my blood, so only my blood could stop him. I understand; I've always understood."
"But I sent you to Hell, to be tortured for hundreds of years! Oh, God!" Her voice cracked and she sobbed out loud.
Angel flinched as the memories, never deeply buried, seethed upward as if longing for release. He pushed them back, refusing to listen to their reminder of unending suffering and horror, and said firmly, "And if you hadn't, you would have been sucked in instead, along with Giles and your mother and Willow, not to mention the rest of the world - possibly even Cordelia."
As he'd hoped, that brought a glimmer of a smile to her face. He continued, "I could almost feel sorry for the underworld if that had happened. I don't think it's ever encountered anyone like Cordy."
Buffy emitted a laugh that was mostly a sob. Angel held her close and went on. "Buffy, you had no choice. You couldn't let the world be destroyed."
"I know." Her voice was small; he had to strain to hear it. "But - I still remember the look on your face when I - " She gave a shudder. "I'll never forget it, never." Tears rolled down cheeks already raw from crying.
"Just as I'll never forget seeing you lying unconscious with blood still trickling from the wounds that I put in your neck," he said quietly. "Buffy, somehow we'll have to learn how to let go of our nightmares. We can't let the past destroy our future together."
Buffy raised swollen eyes to his face. "I told myself the same thing last night in the cemetery."
"Maybe you should listen to your own advice," came a gentle voice from the doorway. Before they could do more than snap their heads in that direction, it continued, "Excuse me for eavesdropping, but we need to talk." They recognized her instantly.
Buffy drew in a deep breath. "Miss Calendar."
Jenny regarded her seriously. "The First Evil is gathering Its forces even as we speak. Tonight will be the decisive battle." Moonlight shone through her wavering figure.
Angel cut in. "Give us a minute to dress and we'll join you in the living room."
Jenny smiled faintly. "Of course." She vanished from sight. Buffy and Angel looked at each other for a second then got up and hunted for their clothes. As they were dressing, Angel said, very quietly, "Be alert, Buffy. This may not be Jenny Calendar. Remember that last time the First often took her form."
"I know," she replied, just as softly. "But - I think it is her, Angel. Why would the First come to warn us?" She zipped her pants and looked around for her shoes, noticing that the clock radio read 3:12 A.M. Well, they'd gotten a few hours of sleep at least.
"Because It has a twisted and devious mind," Angel said grimly, straightening his pants. They pulled their shoes on over their bare feet and went into the living room, where they stopped in surprise. Jenny wasn't their only visitor. A short, cheaply dressed man was standing with his hands in his pockets, gazing around the spacious room. Unlike Jenny he was quite solid.
"Hiya, kids," he greeted them jauntily. "Long time no see. Quite a place ya got here, Angel. A lot better than chasing rats in a sewer, huh?"
"Whistler," Angel replied. "Why are you here?" He glanced from Whistler to Jenny, then at Buffy. He knew she was thinking the same thing he was. The First had never manifested as more than one person at a time, so probably the spirit in front of them really was that of Jenny Calendar.
Whistler perched on the back of the couch, folded his arms. "It's like this: The Powers That Be knew you'd two'd be wondering whether Jenny here really was Jenny or whether she was the First trying something sneaky, so they sent me to reassure you. Ya got anything to drink in this joint?"
"Water and blood," Buffy stated tersely. Then, ignoring both his expression and Angel's sudden, suspicious coughing fit, she asked, "The Powers are interested in this situation?"
"You bet," Whistler answered. "Things are seriously out of balance here. That's why They've decided to share some info that'll help you in this battle that's coming up."
Jenny came forward, her dark eyes fixed earnestly on them. Buffy repressed an involuntary shiver as she neared. Hearing Jenny's voice as she had two nights ago was quite different from actually seeing her ghost. The outlines of the furniture blurred and wavered as Jenny walked in front of each piece.
"That's why I was allowed to help Willow put the new curse on you, Angel. The Powers wanted the guilt enhancement removed so your emotions could return to normal."
Angel frowned. "I don't understand. Why does that matter to Them?"
"The First has been watching you two for a long time," Whistler told them. "Since shortly after you first met, in fact. It's been manipulating you for quite a while - mostly you, Angel, because you were easier prey than the Slayer." He turned an admiring look on Buffy. "You are one tough nut to crack, kid."
"Angel's emotions had been tampered with," Buffy said quickly. "Everything he felt was magnified because of the curse. Oh!" Suddenly she got it.
"Exactly." Whistler pushed back the brim of his hat with a satisfied air. "Easy target, like I said."
Jenny went on. "Angel, the First began using your emotions against you almost as soon as you returned from the Demon Dimension. Your anguish over what Angelus had done made it child's play for the First to get into your mind. At first It wanted you to kill Buffy and come over to Its side, and It exerted all Its powers to that end. Then, when that ploy failed - "
Angel interrupted. "The snow storm that kept the sunrise from killing me - was that your doing?" He was looking at Whistler, who snorted.
"Yeah, right. Like I can command the elements." He shifted position. "No, the Powers took a hand there. They need you alive, Angel. Or - whatever. You sure you don't have any beer at least?"
"When that failed," repeated Jenny in a louder tone, "the First decided to change tactics. It began working more subtly, influencing your emotions rather than conducting an open assault on them. Your concerns about your relationship with Buffy, the feeling that her life would be better if you weren't in it - the First used them all, Angel. Having failed to kill you or Buffy, It wanted the two of you apart, and it succeeded in separating you. That's what It's trying to achieve once more, and that's why the Powers decided your emotional health needed an assist, to lessen the chances of It succeeding again."
"But why does It want to separate us?" Buffy asked.
"Because together you two are an even more powerful force for good than you are singly. Because when you're apart you're both in a world of hurt, and that's what the First thrives on - what it feeds on, actually."
"Two birds with one stone," came Whistler's contribution. "The First separates you and, voila! Banquet time on the one hand, weakened opponents on the other."
"And tonight's the big show," Buffy said.
"It's going to hit you with everything It's got. That dream you two just had?" Whistler shook his head. "Just the beginning, kids."
Buffy swallowed. She was still aching inside from the resonance of that dream, her eyes still swollen and sore, and she badly needed a Kleenex so she could blow her nose.
Jenny moved in front of her. "Buffy, even though Angel was easier to influence because of the curse, you were not wholly immune to the First's schemes. Every little insecurity, every doubt, was seized and worked on, especially the ones relating to Angel."
Glancing at Angel, standing silent beside her, two instances immediately sprang to Buffy's mind of times when her behavior had been atypical. She remembered her strong jealous reaction to seeing Angel having an intimate conversation with a strange woman, an exceedingly strange woman as it turned out - Drusilla. Her first impulse had been to go after him and find out who this woman was, but she had decided instead to wait and see if Angel volunteered anything. That decision not only created hurt feelings and anger when he hadn't, it had also deepened her basic insecurity about Angel's feelings for her.
Another time she'd arrived at the mansion to visit him just in time to see Faith leaving it. When Faith had kissed Angel on the cheek, instead of continuing on and finding out what was up, she'd turned and left. That choice also had far-reaching effects, since a discussion with Angel just might have clued her in earlier to Faith's defection and saved them both heartache. However, comforting though it might be to believe that her faulty judgment had been wholly due to evil manipulation by the First, Buffy remained skeptical.
"Miss Calendar, are you telling me that the devil made me do it?"
With a faint smile of acknowledgment for Buffy's quip, Jenny shook her head. "Made you do it? No. Influenced you so that you acted in a way you might not have done otherwise? Yes. It's not difficult, Buffy. The merest whisper of a suggestion will do."
Though still not convinced, Buffy didn't argue any further; there seemed no point to it. Remembering their conversation the previous evening with Giles, Angel then asked, "Is Buffy the real target? Last time, the First kept trying to get me to kill her, and the dream we shared tonight was aimed at her."
Whistler gave an impatient shake of his head. "You're not listening. It wants both of you."
Jenny said softly, "Don't underestimate yourself, Angel. You possess a moral strength and courage that few humans achieve. For a vampire, even one with a soul, it's unbelievable. You've endured torments that would have driven most people insane, and not only survived them but emerged even stronger. That's why you're such a threat.
"What the First really wants is to turn both of you to evil, but we believe It's realized how futile that hope is. Failing that, It wants you dead. You and Buffy. If It also fails in that attempt It will try to separate you again, as we already said."
Whistler stood up. "Hey, it's time for us to vamoose. You've had your warning, which is all we can do." He sauntered over to the door, opened it, then turned and surveyed them. For once his voice held only sincerity. "Good luck, kids." The door closed silently behind him.
They turned toward Jenny, who sighed. "I wish I could do more to help. Just remember, together you're stronger than you are apart. Stay together." She faded from view.
The two looked at each other in silence. After a minute Buffy cleared her throat. "Right. Well ..." Her voice petered out for lack of anything to say.
"Yeah." Angel rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I'll, uh, go put a shirt on. Given a choice I always prefer to be fully dressed when I fight evil."
"Right," Buffy said again. "And I'll ... go make some tea. Do we have any tea?"
"I brought some with me. It's in the cupboard next to the stove." Angel disappeared into the bedroom and Buffy went into the kitchen. She found a tea kettle and filled it with water, putting it on the stove to boil, then began searching for cups. The mugs she found were filthy with dust so, with a sigh, Buffy looked around for cleaning supplies. Under the sink she discovered an old dishrag and a dusty bottle of Dawn that still had about an inch of detergent in it. To her surprise it was still liquid enough to squirt from the bottle. Angel joined her as she was carefully washing away two years' worth of greasy dust.
He came up behind her. "You look very domestic. Washing-up isn't an activity I associate you with."
"No," she agreed. "Throwing them in the dishwasher is more my line."
"You modern women are so spoiled," he teased. "How would you manage if you had to first bring in the water from the well, then heat it over a wood stove, and then pour it into a washing basin, the way the women of my time did?"
"Probably not very well," Buffy admitted, setting the second clean cup on the counter. "I'd just use paper plates."
Angel smiled. "Sorry, no paper plates back then."
Buffy turned around. "And no plastic utensils either, I suppose."
"Nope."
Shaking her head in mock despair, Buffy said, "No paper, no plastic, no electricity. None of the basic comforts of civilization. How did you ever survive?"
Angel abandoned the banter. He put his arms around her. "We'll get through this, mavourneen," he told her. She slid her arms around his waist and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.
"We will." She felt his kiss on the top of her head, and tightened her arms in reply. Then she looked up. "What did you call me? Maureen?"
"Ma-vour-neen," he carefully enunciated. "It's Celtic for ‘my darling.' " Looking at the ravages her earlier spell of weeping had left on her face, Angel felt his heart twist and knew he would gladly face any danger, endure any torment, even confront Hell itself again, if it would spare her more suffering. He leaned down and kissed her, softly, tenderly.
Buffy melted. His mouth was so cool, his lips so loving, that she lost herself in the kiss, forgetting where they were, forgetting their danger. At what point the tenderness transformed she couldn't tell, only that all at once they were consumed by a blind, voracius need.
Buffy's heart went into overdrive; she couldn't get enough of his mouth, devouring hers. Angel's shirt went flying, as did hers. Their hands roamed greedily, caressing, fondling. Together they clawed her jeans off, and his sweatpants.
Groaning, Angel lifted her bodily, setting her down on the counter. Buffy caught only a glimpse of his rampant erection before it was buried between her eagerly spread legs. Feverishly they kissed, face, neck, mouth, as their bodies strained against each other. Their hoarse, panting cries filled the room.
The change came upon him so suddenly that Angel felt no warning until it was over: He morphed into his game face. A faint prickle of alarm reached him through the pulsing red fog of his desire. "Buffy," he managed to gasp, even as he drove again into her welcoming depths.
"Shh, it doesn't matter," Buffy panted. She planted hot, passionate kisses all over his face. On the enlarged ridge of his brow, the thickened nose. "I love you," she whispered, "I love all of you," and kissed his fanged mouth.
A great burst of light filled his soul. Angel drew back his head and looked at her through his yellow vampire eyes. She met his gaze steadily. With eyes locked, they thrust, pelvis meeting pelvis with an audible smack! Twin groans rent the air. Again their bodies met, and again, and again . . . A gleam of perspiration sprang upon their skin.
Buffy shivered and gasped, feeling as if she were on fire. She was close, so close ... Angel's wondrously hard length pounded into her again, and she exploded, crying out as massive shudders ran through her. Her eyes drooped shut of their own accord, but she forced them open again. She wanted to see Angel's face when he came.
Angel lunged against her one more time. His face grew contorted, eyes squeezed shut, fangs gnashing while a gasping moan issued from his throat. She felt the convulsions inside her body as he climaxed, holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. His hair was thick as fleece under her fingers; his sweat salty on her tongue when she kissed his neck. On the stove the teakettle was shrieking its life away. Buffy ignored it.
Finally his arms loosened their hold. Buffy leaned back and looked up into Angel's eyes. His yellow eyes. As she watched, the harsh vampiric features softened and seemed to flow together until Angel's human visage returned. Dark eyes gazed at her, slightly stunned. "That was - interesting."
"Wasn't it?" she agreed in her driest tone. "Adrenalin reaction, do you think?"
"I guess. Whatever caused it, I do know I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Angel cupped her chin and kissed her. Suddenly he stopped, looking concerned. "Buffy, your back - is it all right? I forgot all about those cuts."
"You must have had something else on your mind," Buffy responded, straight-faced. "No, really, Angel, I'm fine." She leaned forward so he could inspect her back. "See?" After he was reassured on that matter, she sighed. "As much as I'm enjoying this I'm afraid we're going to have to break it up." She glanced down. "Or apart, in this case."
Angel laughed and, still holding her, stepped away from the counter. Hands cupped over her buttocks, he gave her another kiss then slowly lowered her to her feet. Buffy stood for an instant in his embrace, relishing the sensation of their naked bodies touching, the solid, cool planes of his chest under her cheek, the scratch of his pubic hair on her belly, and the damp, heavy mass of his genitals nestling against her. Then she sighed again and went over to the stove, where she finally turned off the burner under the frantic teakettle. A blessed silence descended.
Gathering up their clothes, she asked, "See you in the bathroom?" Angel murmured assent, busy with tea bags and the pouring of water into the mugs. Once in the bathroom, Buffy stepped under the shower eagerly. Her skin had been crawling ever since re-donning the filthy clothes she'd worn patrolling last night, and she couldn't wait to feel clean again. Also she knew how important it was to maintain good hygiene now that she and Angel were engaging in regular and frequent - er, activity.
The last thing I want is to get some kind of infection. That would definitely be a total bummer.
The door opened and Angel entered, with two mugs of tea. Buffy got out of the shower and Angel took her place. She reached for her towel, making a face when she realized it was still damp from her earlier ablutions. Guess I better get some more from home later today. Wrapping the towel around her, she sipped her tea and went to find clean clothes, throwing the remains of her tattered shirt in the wastebasket as she passed it.
She was tying her shoe laces when Angel emerged, tousling his hair vigorously. She smiled at the way it stuck up in spiky damp clumps - not all that different from his usual style, really. "How do you think the First will begin Its attack?" she asked him. "Not with another dream, surely."
Tossing the towel onto the bed, Angel stepped into another pair of sweatpants, not bothering with underwear. "I doubt it. The time for dreams is past. I think we can expect more direct action. The First will probably manifest as ... well, as people we'd rather not see."
"Yeah. And what about those Harrower guys? If they attack us - Angel, we'll be outnumbered big time. I think we should call in the gang; we're going to need all the help we can get."
"I agree." Angel pulled a thin, dark blue sweater over his head, ran a hand through his hair, and scanned the floor. "Buffy, where did you put my shoes?"
She tossed them to him on her way to the living room. Picking up the phone, she dialed a familiar number. It took several rings before anyone answered.
"Yes? Hello?" The voice was befuddled with sleep.
"Giles, it's me. Sorry to wake you, but can you and the gang come to the mansion? I think we're going to need backup tonight."
"What's happening?" Giles' voice was more alert now. She pictured him blinking his eyes and running his hand over his hair.
"We've had a warning that the First is ready to fire the big guns tonight. That probably means the Harrowers, among other things. If you'll call Xander I'll get hold of Willow and she can call Oz - "
Giles interrupted. "Xander and Oz are here already. Call Willow and tell her to be ready in ten minutes. We'll come around to her private door."
"Why are - Never mind, we don't have time for that now. I'll call Willow. And, Giles - thanks."
The clipped British accent softened. "Any time, Buffy. You know that. Now get on to Willow and we'll see you as soon as we can get there. Be careful."
"We will." With that Buffy rang off, then called Willow, waking her up of course. It took a couple of minutes for Willow to come out of her sleep-fog, but once she understood what was happening she agreed in a flash.
"Of course I'll come! And I'll bring some supplies with me for breaking enchantments and things. You never know, they might come in useful."
Though privately doubting whether mere herbs and spells would be helpful against this particular evil entity, Buffy agreed and hung up the phone. Angel came in and tossed a few stakes onto the couch. "I hope Giles brings some weapons," he said grimly. "Because except for a couple of dull knives in the kitchen, this is it."
"I wish I had my trunk," Buffy muttered. "Then we'd at least have some holy water."
A voice came from behind them. "What is this I hear? Is de Slay-er act-u-ally worried?" The lilting island accent, with its oddly-stressed syllables and the "th" that was almost a "d", was unmistakable.
They spun around. A petite girl in her mid-teens stood in front of the french doors leading to the garden. Her skin was coffee-colored, her long black hair braided in corn-rows and pulled into a ponytail. She wore brown leggings and a bright orange paisley crop top.
"Kendra," Buffy greeted her flatly.